An unexpected feeling

chapter 2

I woke up the next morning, my eyes still sore and puffy from all the crying the night before. I rubbed them gently, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, and for the first time, I really looked around the room well enough.

It was beautiful—far more beautiful than anything I'd ever had. The walls were painted a gentle sky blue, the kind that made you think of clear summer days even in winter. A small sofa upholstered in soft cream fabric sat near the foot of the bed, with a low polished walnut table between it and the bed, perfect for a cup of tea or a book. The bed itself was wide and inviting, made up with crisp white cotton sheets that felt cool and fresh against my skin, tucked neatly under a pale quilt embroidered with tiny delicate flowers along the edges.

Across the room stood a tall wardrobe of dark wood, its doors carved with subtle floral patterns, and beside it a matching dressing table with an oval mirror framed in gilt. A small vase of fresh white roses sat on the table, filling the air with their sweet, clean scent. The whole room smelled faintly of lavender and polished wood—like someone had taken real care to make it welcoming.

I hadn't noticed any of this last night, too lost in my grief and fear. Now, in the daylight, it felt almost unreal. Like a room from a magazine, meant for a young lady with a proper life, not someone who'd been dragged here against her will.

I lifted the edge of the sheet to my face and inhaled. It smelled so nice—freshly laundered, with just a hint of something floral in the soap. For a moment, I let myself pretend this was normal. But the thought twisted quickly: it would all end soon enough. Who knew what Lucius might do to me? The memory of his cold eyes and that cruel smile made my stomach knot.

I pushed the covers aside and padded over to the window. The curtains were made of fine cotton printed with soft sprays of pink and white roses—flowering cotton, just like the ones Mother used to love. I parted them carefully and looked down.

There he was—Lucius—standing on the walkway below, talking to another man in a dark suit. They were laughing about something, and when Lucius smiled like that, really smiled, his face softened in a way that almost made him look human. Handsome, even. But I knew better. That smile didn't reach his eyes, and his heart was cold. I hated heartless people. I watched as he waved the man off, the car crunching away down the long drive. Then, as if he sensed me, Lucius glanced up—straight toward my window.

My breath caught. I ducked behind the curtain so fast I nearly tripped, heart hammering. When I peeked again, he was still looking, a small, knowing smile curving his lips before he turned and entered his horse and drove off.

A knock came at the door, sharp but not unkind.

"Yes, come in," I called, stepping away from the window just as Madam Maddie pushed the door open.

"Good morning, dear," she said, her voice warm like sunlight.

"Good morning, Madam Maddie."

"So how are you feeling, huh…?"

"Rosemary," I finished for her with a small smile.

"Oh, Rosemary. Can I call you Rose?"

"Of course, ma'am," I said.

"I hope you're feeling much better today," she asked, tilting her head as she studied me.

"Yes, I'm good. Thank you, madam."

"Oh, look at your eyes," she said, her face softening with real concern. She stepped closer and gently cupped my cheeks, turning my face toward the light. "Did you cry all night?"

"Not really," I lied, though my voice wobbled.

"Oh, dear. Let me go make some hot water for you so you can take your bath, okay?" She gave my face a gentle pat before stepping back.

"Okay. Thank you," I added, managing a real smile this time.

"It's nothing. Now, follow me," she said.

We walked down the short corridor to the bathroom attached to my room. It was small but lovely—white tiled walls with a border of pale blue mosaic flowers near the ceiling, a deep clawfoot tub standing on brass feet, and a window with frosted glass letting in soft light. A shelf held fluffy white towels, a bar of lavender soap, and a bottle of rose-scented bath oil. Madam Maddie turned the taps, testing the water until steam rose in gentle curls, then added a few drops of the oil. The air filled with the soothing smell of roses and warmth.

She helped me out of the wrinkled dress I'd slept in, treating me like I was fragile china, never rushing or making me feel ashamed. As I slipped into the hot water, the ache in my body began to ease, and for the first time since yesterday, I felt a tiny spark of relief.

Madam Maddie was so kind. She hummed softly as she laid out a clean nightdress and robe—simple cotton, pale pink, with tiny embroidered daisies on the collar. She chatted about little things: how the roses in the garden were still blooming despite the chill, how she liked to bake shortbread on quiet mornings. Nothing about Lucius, nothing about why I was here. Just gentle, ordinary talk that made the world feel a little less frightening.

I was so grateful she was here. Without her, how would I even begin to live again? How will I face tomorrow?.

That evening, Madam Maddie returned from the market, her arms laden with bulging bags of fresh food and groceries. She smiled and asked me to help carry them to the kitchen. We lugged everything inside and set it all down on the wide cabinet, the room instantly alive with the comforting aromas of crisp produce, warm bread, and hints of herbs.

“Thank God you’re back, Madam Maddie,” I said with a light laugh, relieved to have company. “I was so bored all afternoon.”

She studied me for a moment. “I hope you didn’t spend the day crying.”

“No, not at all,” I assured her quickly.

Then, eyeing the overflowing bags, I smiled. “You bought so much from the market.”

“Yes, dear,” she replied warmly. “Tonight, we’re making crispy potato chips, tender chicken fricassee, pickled vegetables, and some bacon-wrapped cheese bites.”

My eyes widened in genuine delight. “That sounds wonderful—it’s one of my favorites.”

“Mine too,” she said, her voice softening. “And Lucius enjoys it as well.”

The mention of his name sent a familiar ache twisting through my stomach. In that instant, I wished more than anything that the house held only the two of us—no shadows, no expectations.

She must have noticed my sudden quiet. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I said, shaking it off with a forced smile. “So, shall we get started?” I added, my excitement bubbling up despite everything.

She chuckled as she began unpacking the items. “I take it you enjoy cooking, Rosemary?”

“I do—very much so.”

“As do I,” she agreed. “You remind me of myself at your age: a mix of sadness and joy, but always finding solace in the kitchen. I was quite skilled at it back then.”

“Really?” I asked, starting to peel the potatoes with steady strokes.

“Of course,” she said kindly. “You’re a good girl. Any woman would be lucky to have you as a daughter.”

“Thank you, Maddie,” I murmured, touched by her words.

After a brief pause, curiosity prompted me to ask, “Do you have any children?”

Her movements slowed for just a heartbeat. “I lost my baby during labor.”

“Oh God… I’m so sorry,” I whispered, regret flooding me. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s all right,” she said gently, resuming her work. “It was a long time ago. Since then, I’ve devoted myself to caring for Lucius and his family.”

I hesitated, then ventured, “Where… where is the rest of his family?”

She let out a soft sigh. “That’s a long story, dear. And he doesn’t like it when people discuss his family.”

“But you’ll tell me something, won’t you?” I pressed, my curiosity overriding caution.

She met my gaze for a moment, then offered a faint, knowing smile. “Perhaps.”